Iron
by cpimentel983
Summary: 5 years past from the Fall of Constantinople the vanished Emperor Constantine XI has mounted preparations underground for a massive organized revolt to retake control of the city and remake the legacy of the land of his predecessors: The Byzantine Empire. But he has no children so he's to adopt a man of greek blood to be his heir, aid the rebellion and change history. Review Please
1. Prologue

**Iron**

**Prologue**

**This story is AU, so while there will be historically accurate characters with some dramatic license taken, the historical situation as you'll see, is quite different from reality. There will be war, peace and love here. Also:Sex, lots of it, political machination, fighting, mpreg (how? you'll see...) That said, while there will not be any angsty moments, this is a very serious story. I have no intention to undertake any political debate on the formation and birth of the nations of Greece and Turkey. There will be graphic violence (only in combat).**

**POV's: CXIP; Constantine XI Palaiologos**

** K; Karteleigos Hommeldaligo**

** B; Blaine Anderson (Why did i keep the original?)**

**Italics are for flashbacks. Underlined for emotional speech.(Bold black for**** screaming**,

...and then the Empire of the Romans in the East was no more.

That is how many stories, books and children's tales end these days. And people don't seem to care much about it.

Some comment on the sad but honorable demise of Constantine, the Eleventh of his name, fighting for the city of which he'd been crowned Emperor: Head of the Byzantine Empire and Leader of the church in the East, the Orthodox Church.

Most just ignore them. They've heard all this before...

But some people want one thing: Action.

The Varangians fought to almost the last man. So had the militia and the Venetians and Genoese who had come to our aid. Generations before us had driven back the invader, time and again. But here we are. The city of Constantinopoli, our precious jewel, is now given a different name: Istanbul. It's not official, but the new turkish settlers have named it so, as if it was theirs in the first place. But, no matter.

This won't last. We're still here. I, Constantine Palaiologos, the Eleventh of my family and Royal House, still lives. But, if i'm to succeed, i can't act like some prepotent has been of a king, looking for a kingdom to rule over. My house lives on, but i've got no children. Mostly because i'm not interested in women only, and the one woman i loved died giving birth. So, in case of, and when i die, i need an heir. Someone i can trust that will not fight for a dynasty of his own or be of those whom have second thoughts because of wife and children. Who better for this than a fellow brother in passion & lust of men?

However, he must be of honor, not a promiscous, unfaithful bachelor. He must transmit a message of trust, not dishonor. Lord knows there's been plenty of that.

And he must be in love. Power is lonesome and can eat and ensombre the heart. Would the Church and the Patriach of the City agree with all this? It would have been an interesting conversation...were he amongst the living. And most others are dead anyway. Besides, i'm the Byzantine Emperor or will be again anyway. Even if he's the one to take the crown and title, he should be wise enough to know then that one perk over the other Kings & Emperors of Europe we always had was our union of the Imperial Office with the Church. It shouldn't be a huge leap to permit any two young lovers to marry. I doubt God would wish his children loneliness & despair.

So the only thing left is to find this unknowing pretender,legally adopt him as a son, and organize a more potent force to overthrow Murad...ah Murad, you brave, cunning bastard...

**End CXIP P.O.V. **

* * *

**Narrator POV**

Yet there's no time for him to finish the thought...

-Efendim! (Sir!)

-Yusuf, have you any news for us?

Yusuf, a young servant, who had been captured in a battle in the Morea (Greece) and had sworn fealty to his captor in exchange for his life, had been sent to collect information on the potential candidates for adoption. The Emperor had always wondered why a muslim, captured in battle by an Orthodox noble, and brought to a besieged city, hadn't left him when he found him and set him free. After all, serving several years as somebody's slave wouldn't created one ounce of pity if set free by a man who was about to lose all treasure and power he could have had before.

Yet, he would not answer. Only saying that he had a debt of honor to pay. He'd been loyal ever since.

-Yes, efendim. Though there are several names on the list, there are two who really should fulfill your expectations... -Shh...it's not wise to linger here. Let's keep moving

While people in the market were still preocuppied with their own affairs, it was not the best idea to talk of things concerning insurrection and conspiracy in the streets, specially with Janissaries, elite guardsmen and soldiers of the Sultan close by. So, it was only natural to hide in what had become their playing grounds and safeguarding: The old byzantine underground water supply and sewer system. It had been one of the greatest sources of pride for his predecessors, having made Constantinopoli the clean, rich and mighty place it was. However, most only carried water from the Bosphorus now, as the Ottomans had discontinued their use, mostly. But now, they were the home of an entire revolt, waiting to happen. Even here, in Galata District, the former Genoese colony of Pera, there were several men wearing the lamellar, roman sword and famed Imperial Double Eagle banner in their chest, guarding the entrance to the sewer system.

-You two, close the hatch and organize patrols. Check for any unwanted guests. -Yes sir!. -The rest, leave us please.

After seeing that there was no person close enough to hear or see of their matters, Yusuf gave a neatly sealed letter, that too with the double eagle printed in one of it's sides. -So, who are the two kind souls you've found? -One is a tailor, efendim. But he served in the army and was part of the militia that fought defending the Golden Gate. You were there... _Arrghh! My arm! My arm! Cries not that much different rang from different directions and languages, and what was frightening to hear in unison was equally as horrifying to see, as men trying to force a breach and climb the walls fell, one by one, from the 5 meter tall wall, and dead defenders, however less in number, followed suit... -Sir, watch out! -_ Yes...i remember.

-So, the name is Karteleigos Hommeldaligo, he has his shop right above the next passageway, in case we ought to...

**End First Chapter...**


	2. Chapter 1: Wake Up Call Part 1

**Chapter 2**

But, he wasn't listening anymore...

_-Sir,watch out! As he turned to see where the voice was coming from, three turkish soldiers charged forward against him. He slashed the first in the stomach and threw him off the wall. The second was fighting a crossbowman that had come down from his post to aid him, leaving the turk's back exposed, so he cut his leg. Though he is not a threat anymore, he kills him, so as not to let him return to his camp and come back later. Suddenly, there is a call behind him yelling "Behind you, bastard!". Before he can respond, he's struck down by a single blow in the left arm, falling to ground, in the same position as the second dead turk. He saw in him nought but determination of revenge. He's certain of his fate... _

_-Hey,sveta(idiot)!_

_The sturdy man turns, and his head is promptly cut off and his body falls to the opposite side of the wall. Apparently, the man was the captain in charge of the attack, for the Ottoman immediately sounded the retreat..._

_But he could not see any of this, he was disorientated, as the pain was incredibly real and everpresent, yet he did not yell, as he felt himself slipping into peaceful slumber... _

_-Sir, wake up!_

_Now he had to wake up, he had to know of whom was this voice, that had saved him from death three times already...or was this the end? Was this Archangel Gabriel, coming to take him to heaven?...Who?..._

_-Who are you, messere? _

_To be asked his name and addressed with an Italian "Sir" shocked this face, this marvelous, angelic face..._

_-My name is __Karteleigos, your highness, but the men call me..._

_-_Kurt... –Efendim? -Karteleigos was the family name, but the german mercenaries called him Kurt Hummel, so they could dispense with the greek pronuntiation. He was a crossbowman in the central wall, were i had disposed my command. It was...hard fighting, to say the least. –And you know the man how..? -He saved my life, and stopped a particularly brutal assault on the walls...and...well. He was quite a sight indeed...

Fighting for the cause of an Empire long in decline against unsurmountable odds...and yet he couldn't have been less than 17 years of age.

-Is he...?

-His lover died in the siege.

-How many have not met the same fate?...How do we get to him? -Well, there are different options: We can blow the floor... –Subtle.. –Yes, i thought the same, or we can speak to him directly, whilst endangering him and whoever else lives there. –Not helpful... –And, my least favorite one: kidnapping. –Hmmph... I say we blow the floor. –And the guardsmen? -Put them to sleep.

-And him? Can you persuade him that after blowing his floor in the middle of the night, invading his workplace and home and getting secretly into his room...we are not going to kill him.

-I think i can handle it

A third voice interrupts what had been thought a private conversation.

-And you are?

-Blaine Anderson, sir.

He looks at him twice, and after about 2 minutes he asks one thing:

-Are you good with knives? -Don't know, sir. Would have to ask the five jannisaries i dispensed with sir?

-Hmmpphhh...Well, let's wake up the prince, shall we?

**End Second Chapter. **


	3. Chapter 3: Wake Up Call Part 2

**Chapter 3: Wake Up Call Part 2**

**B P.O.V**

I've got nothing. Three words that, most of the time, are never entirely true, no matter who utters them. Only the poor know it's true meaning, but then again, who else would really care?

Yet, for me, they've rung mostly true. My family, travelers and merchants from England, had lived here for, at the time, 15 years. They weren't going anywhere. I was of enough age to serve and, the city being under siege, anybody was effectively going to serve, if they really wanted to.

It lasted about a month. Did we commit everything we have? Yes.

Did we give them not any quarter? Yes

But at the end, it wasn't enough. The Ottoman Sultan, Murad II, bypassed by land,ships that had been carried into the Golden Horn. That was only the beggining. We found the Turks coming right up under the walls and seeking battle, particularly the janissaries...and when one or two of them were killed, at once more Turks came and took away the dead ones...without caring how near they came to the city walls. Our men shot at them with guns and crossbows, aiming at the Turk who was carrying away his dead countryman, and both of them would fall to the ground dead, and then there came other Turks and took them away, none fearing death, but being willing to let ten of themselves be killed rather than suffer the shame of leaving a single Turkish corpse by the walls.

That is testament to the monumentality of the task we face: repelling an enemy that did no fear death nor captivity. How do you face that? You had to be brave yourself. And so we were. But we lost. Afterwards three days, when the killing had stopped on both sides, after the fall of our city, the Sultan celebrated his victory with a great, joyful triumph. He issued a proclamation: the citizens of all ages who had managed to escape detection were to leave their hiding places throughout the city and come out into the open, as they were remain free and no question would be asked. He further declared the restoration of houses and property to those who had abandoned our city before the siege, if they returned home, they would be treated according to their rank and religion, as if nothing had changed. But they had changed.

The Sultan is a brave, stubborn, intelligent man. But the same cannot be said of all his soldiers. Before the Arrival of the Sultan, the slavic mercenaries at their service and some of the lay infantry of their sacked the holy places, while the serbians went and raped whomever they found.

So if only for the sake of vengeance i would do what i'm about to do now.

I approach the sentry on the rooftop wearing a common mans clothes, giving him my good wishes and desiring a good night for him, which puzzles him, because the sun has not even begun to fade to night. I knock him out unconscious and take his uniform...

There is a foundry not far from the tailor's house, so melting, explosions and testing of weapons is common, if annoying to the people who live nearby. Were an accident to happen while someone is stealing the cache...well that would be most unfortunate, no?

But is not as easy as it would seem. The only way in is through the front door, because the opening through the roof is heavily guarded, though if someone gives the alarm of a robbery, they would have to respond. But there's another treat: there WILL be a robbery, and we are going to take the weapons in the cache. Why did we lose? Guns. We didn't have enough of them. That and the lack of men to defend the Golden Horde streched us too thin. We can't make the same mistake.

All this will happen before the explosion, which will be loud, with lots of gunpowder lying around. The tailor is renowned for his ability to sleep 8 to 10 ours each night without waking up. This is to our advantage, because we have to get to him first. The foundry and the house are located in the same old sewer passageway below. The explosion would be severe enough to take down the passage in it's complete entirety. Including the tailor's shop. This too is according to plan, because as he is known for being a heavy sleeper, people will assume he can't possibly have survived the collapse and the janissaries won't bother to check: How tall is the passageway? 20 meters deep. That should take a while to dig up, if they so wan't.

**End of Chapter 3**

**Next chapter is going to be incredibly long, but with the smut you looking for. Plus, coronations and plans for coup d'etat!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Going with A Bang

The guards at the front gat were easy enough to fool. If everyone uses the same uniform and the same language, then why would you ask questions? Better for us then.

-"Over here Kyrie(Sir)!", called a hushed voice, hidden amongst the crates of matchlocks and gunpowder.

Alexandros was a hardened man. He had fought in the expedition the emperor had sent to Greece, in his attempt to restore imperial hegemony in the Peloponnese, specially Athens. Before that, he hunted rogue criminals and vandals that roamed the countryside. After the defeat of the city, he didn't have much else to do, as all of those had dissapeared or had their hands cut off.

Crawling to his position, he places himself across the aisle, so he doesn't attract attention. If the others are in at their places, they had made a fine job about hiding it.

-Everyone is at their place. We are ready. But...there is a problem. –What kind of trouble? , asked the edgy assasin. This had taken an entire week to organize, the positions scouted prior to this moment of truth, when they would finally prove they could orchestrate major plans and execute them effectively. So what on earth could be holding them back, what kind of messing up had they come up with? -Well, the four guards that are positioned in the center garden of the building seem to owe money to the men of a Jannisary squad, and they've come back for it. They don't wan't to pay 'cause they say the ''the bastards are cheaters and crooks'' and so on...then the rest of the guards came in...well, point is, they're about to kill each other, and once we set up the gunpowder to blow, i don't think it would be good for us to find that the way out is blocked by soldiers and jannisaries, no? -"I'll take care of it." He'd done this before. –What do you mean, you can't face them all by yourself! -Yes i can & i will. YOU should have taken care of it before i arrived, but now it falls upon me to turn this to our favor.

In the courtyard, the argument had already turned sour and consequently violent. Though perhaps not orderly or proper for soldiers to turn against each other, tension between lay soldiers and Jannisaries had been festering for too long. All were veterans, or it was logical that they woul be. Purportedly, the Jannisaries were slaves of a kind, the first children of their Christian families. Taken, by law, at young age, they were separated forcefully, at times. At many times. However, once they swore an oath of fealty to the Sultan, they were given the best education, military training and equipment. They became the elite soldier of the High Porte, which meant that in due time, they began accruing power, and ministries ,and titles over the armed forces . For these men, the future would be bright and hopeful.

For the rest, this was not the case. Merit can only get you so far, and these guardsmen were poor enough as to desperatly needing whatever gold and plunder they could manage. These were family men too, and while a Jannisary would never marry, they need not concern themself in what would be of their children if they died or lacked the food to go through another week, days...or even a night.

It hadn't stranged Blaine the direction his mind had veered towards, sympathazing with men loyal to the one responsable for the dissapearance of the world he'd once known, and his family, and for what he saw...

But he must not drift away now. The men fighting to death here, fighting for their own reasons, were not the same. Could you blame them for wanting something for their own? They may have to die, but because of obligation and need, not for pleasure. Not these ones at least.

With a bare blade in his hands, Blaine approached the fierst bulky, harberd-armed Jannisary and cut his throat, taking the weapon and quickly swinging at the one beside him. Another guard noticed this sudden appearance and attempted a cut through the stomach, leaving his left shoulder exposed, which he takes advantage of.

The point of all this was obviously to draw attention to himself long enough for the matches to be set behind them. In this he was succesful, turning the confrontation against the Jannisaries. And then, inevitably, the men with the guns came. This is the excuse he needed: a confrontation gone wrong. Any revolution requires that most essential thing: a spark.

_-Who are you, messere?_

_The nobleman suprised the boy with his Italian question . The man wasn't Milanese or Venetian, all merchants who had anything of value in the city had fled or were hiding. He had to be in the Royal Court, at least. And after the lenghts he went to save the ( lords?) royal's life, nevermind the same who saved him moments ago, it was only proper to answer. Besides, he had a lovely face..._

_-My name is__Karteleigos, your highness, but the men call me Kurt Hummel. –Kurt...beautiful name... The wounded man was drifting asleep out more, but he couldn't allow that to happen. He may not wake again. Conversation seemed a better distraction than shaking up the frail man._

_-Well, thank you my lord. But i'm on the dark as to your name. Knowing your name would make treating your wounds an easier task._

_The nobleman was taking deep breaths now, but even though his eyes were closed, one could tell he was trying to speak through great pain._

_-I'm..aahg! My name is __Constantine Palaiologos, the nineth of my name. If that is not enough for the dear doctor, be kind enough to hit him over the head, if you please?...Hehe.._

_They both laughed softly at that, though Kurt's was thin, as though when there's a smile to be had, but one can't bring himself to do so, sensing not-really bitter irony. Suddenly, and not unexpected by the royal beneath him, his eyes blinked and his lips rolled the name in recognition._

_-My emperor, don't die on me! Stay still and don't let the wound go. I'll get you help_

_The Emperor nodded, yet as he was standing up, ready to run to the apothecary, he felt a tugging at his legs and turned to the royal figure on the ground__._

_-Will i not receive a kiss from my beautiful savior? Or will i come across you again, up in the heavens, along with the other angels?_

_Though he couldn't help but blush,blue staring to hazel gold eyes. Though the none too far memory of a recently lost love banged in his memory, the man, as he was, fast approaching the place of residence of his maker,and giving a little rush of hope, so he leaned in, eyes closed and kissed him gently. Even if the Emperor was weak in his state, and the response was slow & gentle too, it was the most passionate he had ever felt from anyone, not including David..._

_But he had to go. He broke the kiss, stared into those dilated eyes of darkened gold, stood up and statrted running..._

_But right there, the memory that he's seen many times in his own mind slows down until everything moves by almost nothing, by step be made by hours. A figure he's never seen before, clad in black clothing, yet not death or devil, but a youthful figure seemingly stares at him. He speaks with leveled, gentle yet firm voice._

_- He is not lost to you. He's searching for you, and you're about to be reunited with him. Don't struggle. Not with the ones who will carry you nor the love and destiny you have found. Time is nothing. What once was will be again. Go back...we'll meet again. See you were all the roads lead._

I wake up.

What in heavens was that? What was it supposed to mean?

Searching for me? After the walls were breached i fled and helped the survivors and wounded escape, hiding them in the depths of the city. Never once had any of them expressed anything but certainty that the Emperor was no more. I heard the tales of how he remained behind, covering the final retreat with his Guard alongside him, meeting a glorious end. Though no person had seen him die, nor Ottoman nor Roman, there was a certainty that the Palaiologos were no more if he had made a dash for it, survived untouched, then why would he risk himself coming after the archer, now a tailor, for... what?

But then, i think back to the kiss. He'd lost his wife during childbirth. He had been lonely for the better part of 53 years, assuming this was not one out of place occurence. That it was real. Did he love him? But he couln't, he didn't know anything of me. Or what he could do. Could he?

And then just like that, a loud, clear explosions draws me back from my reverie. It came from downstairs. I guess i'm about to have my reply quicker than i thought.


End file.
